


Untitled Dragon!Gerard AU

by bandslash



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, dragon!gerard, kind of inspired by the hobbit i guess, omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandslash/pseuds/bandslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was now dusk, and the tops of the rolling hills in the distance were dusted with pink. The valley below was calm, but Frank's heart was racing. All his life he’d heard stories of the treasures that lay below in the heart of the mountain, and of the horrors that the treasure’s guard had caused. The stories had been handed through generations of Frank’s family, and over the years he’d heard many variations of the familiar tale. They all told different things, the dragon’s size and ferocity varying from story to story. In some, it simply breathed fire--in others, it had the power to become invisible, or to turn creatures to stone with its eyes. Still others told of its ability to shapeshift. One thing was for certain--it was deadly. For in all of the tales of the brave heroes who had made the journey to face the dragon, not one had made it back alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Dragon!Gerard AU

**Author's Note:**

> roughly hobbit inspired dragon!gerard for the lovely leah maydeathneverstopme, who has been so lovely and patient despite the fact that this has taken me ages. 
> 
> this is a lot of firsts for me--first frerard, first fantasy au, first ao3 post, and first fic in a long time. so... yeah. enjoy, i guess! :)
> 
> (yes i'm aware this is hella short shhhh it's only a prologue)

It was now dusk, and the tops of the rolling hills in the distance were dusted with pink. The valley below was calm, but Frank's heart was racing. All his life he’d heard stories of the treasures that lay below in the heart of the mountain, and of the horrors that the treasure’s guard had caused. The stories had been handed through generations of Frank’s family, and over the years he’d heard many variations of the familiar tale. They all told different things, the dragon’s size and ferocity varying from story to story. In some, it simply breathed fire--in others, it had the power to become invisible, or to turn creatures to stone with its eyes. Still others told of its ability to shapeshift. One thing was for certain--it was deadly. For in all of the tales of the brave heroes who had made the journey to face the dragon, not one had made it back alive.

  
* * *

Ever since he was a young boy, Frank had dreamed of being the first to have the glory of returning from the dragon’s lair. He’d spent countless nights as a small child on his grandfather’s knee, begging the old man to tell him the story of how the dragon had swooped in and driven their ancestors out of their home on the Lost Mountain centuries ago. The man would smile and a faraway look would cast itself over his eyes as he reminisced about his own childhood, telling young Frank stories of how he himself would spend his afternoons running through the forest, playing at being an adventurer. His eyes would sparkle with nostalgia as he related the memories to Frank, but his face would always fall as he looked around the humble cabin that was his home. It was clear that Frank’s grandfather regretted never being brave enough to take the journey into the wilderness for himself, and had never gotten the chance to either prove himself or die trying.

  
He never did, either, for Frank’s grandfather died when Frank was ten years old, leaving the boy alone in the world. His parents had died when he was very small, and he’d lived with his grandfather since. His last words to Frank had been a cryptic “Climb that mountain,” and had stuck with Frank all this time. Now, nearly twenty years later, Frank had set out to do what his grandfather could not. Over the years, his desire to make it to the Mountain had grown from a juvenile dream to a desire to prove himself. Frank had always been shorter and smaller than the other boys in the village, and had been picked on frequently for it. He’d also been exceptionally close to his grandfather, and the old man’s passing had been a tremendous blow. The other children would mock him and his interest in the Lost Mountain, denouncing the stories as child’s play and his dreams as impossible. One would think this would discourage Frank, but no--it only made him more determined to prove them wrong.

  
One day, he’d had enough. So he set out for the Mountain, packing a small bag and taking only the bare necessities with him. He’d left a note for his Aunt Gertrude, the one family member he had who had been kind enough to take him in all those years ago. Then, he took off.  
The journey to the Lost Mountain was, according to the stories, long and perilous. It was exceptionally dangerous for a simple woodsman of Frank’s stature, but he didn’t mind. Armed with a slingshot and carrying an ancient map of the country, he set out through the woods and made out to find his destiny. It was many days’ journey to the Lost Mountain, according to the map, and Frank’s rations were not likely to last very long. Luckily, his grandfather had taught him how to survive off of the woods, and he put this knowledge to good use.

  
After a few days of sleeping in makeshift shelters in tree branches and traipsing through twigs for hours on end, Frank came to a stream that seemed to lead out of the woods. He followed it to where the terrain grew rockier, until at last the Lost Mountain loomed before him. Grey and foreboding, it was impossible to miss against the crystalline blue sky. It was larger than Frank had ever imagined. His head swam as he considered the task before him. It had already been so long, and he was hungry and tired from the journey through the forest. Still, he knew there was no turning back. He decided it was best to take a break for the night, to reorganise himself and to get some rest before he set out to climb the mountain. So, he laid down his pack, took a drink from the river, and sprawled on his back under the stars.

  
* * *

  
The next morning, Frank shouldered his pack and set off toward the Lost Mountain. He reached it fairly quickly, but climbing it would be another story. Frank had grown up climbing trees, but mountain climbing was something he’d never been given the chance to try. The mountain grew steeper as he got higher on its surface, but Frank soon found that his small size and agility, as well as years of tree-climbing experience, made it far easier than he anticipated for him to scale the rock face. He soon fell into a comfortable rhythm of reaching for chinks in the stone to hoist himself up, and before he knew it was situated on a small outcropping in the mountain’s face. It was midafternoon, and the sun was hot and uncomfortable. Frank needed sorely to rest. He halted his ascent and hoisted himself he took the map out of his satchel and examined it again. According to the instructions, there would be an outcropping further up the mountain, similar to the one he was now on but larger. There, he would find a smooth, flat place on the vertical surface that would respond to his touch. Frank knew it had to be close. After a brief rest, he again shouldered his belongings and set off for the entrance to the Dragon’s lair.

  
Several more long, hard hours passed before Frank found himself at the place that looked like the drawing on the map. Breathless, he pulled himself onto the ledge and laid there for a few moments, shaking. Finally, he brought himself to his feet and stepped forward. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for. He reached a timid hand forward and placed it on the stone, right where he’d been told to. The rock was cold beneath his fingers, yet seemed to pulse with an indescribable energy. He waited. Nothing. Shaking, he stepped back and looked expectantly at the wall. He shook his head. All this, for nothing…

  
Just then, there was a tremendous creaking sound as the rock face split into two walls, a jagged scar forming on the vertical surface as the passageway opened. The deafening yawn of ancient stone at last awoken from centuries of slumber sent chills down Frank's spine and brought each hair on his neck to stand at attention. He could feel his heartbeat growing louder as the living mountain shook before and below him. The opening grew slowly wider until the shifting finally stopped, and a dark tunnel had appeared in the rock face. Frank shivered. All his life he'd prepared for this moment--dreamed of it, spent hours searching for this spot. But now that the moment was upon him, he couldn't help but hesitate. No light escaped from the entrance, but a cold, foreboding mist seeped out and chilled the warm summer air around Frank. It was clear the entrance had not been opened in ages. Swallowing, Frank lifted his torch and held it aloft, steeling himself before plunging into the darkness.

  
The torch's meagre flame cast sickly shadows on the jagged walls of the passage. Frank took tentative steps, lightly placing one foot in front of the other with utmost care. The light he carried only illuminated a small circle on the ground before him. Any step could be his last, for who knew what treacherous dropoff lay in the darkness, waiting for him to make one misstep and plummet to his death. A hard lump formed in Frank's throat. Surely this would not be the end--everything up to this point had followed the prophecy perfectly, and it was too late to turn around. He had come too far to go back.

  
Frank followed the narrow passageway for what seemed like an eternity. The path never changed, just kept sloping slowly downwards--down, deep down into the heart of the mountain. After a time, Frank lost track of how long it had been--maybe minutes, maybe hours--and all he knew what that he had to keep going. Surely he would soon come upon the fabled cavern, with the abundant riches he'd heard countless stories of.

  
Time passed slowly on. The mountain was silent but for Frank's light, even footfalls, and the pounding in his chest. He was sure any dragon or devilish beast hiding deep within the mountain would surely hear the staccato rhythm his heart was drilling against his ribcage. but so far, nothing had come for him. After a while. he began to hum as he walked, in an attempt to calm his nerves. The tune was one he faintly remembered from his childhood, perhaps one his Grandfather had sung.  
This went on for some time, Frank, lonely and terrified, humming to himself as he made his way to what he feared would be his death. He had given up all hope of ever finding the treasure when the path suddenly began to widen. After a few yards, frank could feel that he had entered a wider chamber . He held his torch aloft, suddenly silent. He swore he could feel someone waiting in the darkness. He brandished his torch, trembling as it cast unsavory shadows on the cave walls. All was still.

  
Then: “Who goes there?” came a voice, which all at once came echoing through the mountain and freezing Frank where he stood. Ice seemed to shoot up and down his spine as he stood petrified in the darkness. He could see nothing, but imagined that any second a terrible monster would emerge from the darkness, and he’d be killed on the spot. Unable to speak, Frank closed his eyes and stood rooted to the spot.

  
“I said, who goes there?” came the voice again, louder this time, and more menacing. Frank whimpered, “n-nobody,” and swallowed hard.

  
“Really?” There was a laugh unlike any Frank had heard before. “ Sounds like somebody is there,” the voice chuckled. “Nobodys can’t talk, and certainly can’t trespass… so you must be somebody. Now, I’ll ask one more time. Who goes there?” Frank balked. He knew that no matter what he said, he was likely to die, and very quickly. He closed his eyes, not wanting the last thing he ever saw to be a terrible beast.

  
“It’s me,” he said, voice weak, “I’m Frank Iero, of the woodsmen.”

  
“Frank Iero,” repeated the voice, this time much closer. Frank cracked open an eyelid. He still could see nothing. “A woodsman,” said the Dragon--a dragon Frank could have sworn from the voice was human. He picked up his torch from where he’d dropped it a few moments before and held it before him. To his shock, the flames illuminated the face of not a beast, but a man. Frank’s jaw dropped.

  
“I’m Gerard,” the man said, grinning mischievously. “A Dragon.”


End file.
